


An Ancient Durin Method of Dispute Resolution

by WorryinglyInnocent



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 05:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorryinglyInnocent/pseuds/WorryinglyInnocent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When imposters come upon the dwarves’ camp one night, they aren’t at all what Bilbo expects. He’s prepared for orcs, goblins, wargs, trolls, and even Rhosgobel rabbits. </p>
<p>What he isn’t prepared for, is more dwarves…</p>
<p>More <em>lady</em> dwarves...</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Ancient Durin Method of Dispute Resolution

**Author's Note:**

> Not quite sure where this came from, other than the fact I play a dwarf Warhammer army and have created an entire unit of 'Lady Dwarves' who, tired of the menfolk getting all the glory, have gone out to have adventures of their own...
> 
> And the Tolkien and Warhammer mythologies complement each other so nicely. I was inspired. :)

After a few weeks on the road with the dwarves, Bilbo Baggins is just about getting used to waking up with a start after a strange noise, only to be told by whichever dwarf is on the watch that it’s simply an owl, or the wind, or some other harmless aspect of nature. So when, one evening, a strange noise wakes him as it so often does, Bilbo decides not to worry unduly and to roll over and go back to sleep.

It is only when the particular dwarf on the watch (Dori) begins waking up everyone whom the probably utterly harmless nature noise did not disturb, that Bilbo begins to feel some kind of alarm.

It is quickly established that there was Someone Coming, probably More Than One Someone, and that Someone is probably Not Friendly.

Bilbo now feels rather more than alarm. The dwarves, sufficiently awake and alert from the activity in the camp, huddle together with weapons drawn – or tree branches, if their weapons were not immediately to hand. Bilbo takes out his own sword and is infinitely grateful to find that it remains sword coloured, and is not glowing blue. At least this means there are no orcs or goblins on their way. Of course, just because there are no orcs or goblins doesn’t mean that something worse isn’t coming. Bilbo pauses in that train of thought; what could be worse than orcs and goblins? Actually, he doesn’t want to think about that.

The undergrowth parts and the dwarves back up towards the rock in the centre of the clearing under which their fire is still flickering, readying themselves to come face to face with…

Four more dwarves.

Four more dwarves who, although sporting impressive and indeed luxurious beards, look rather… female.

The four lady-dwarves enter the clearing and the leader sets down her axe, folding her arms crossly.

“Thorin Oakenshield,” she growls, “you have an awful lot to answer for!”

Bilbo looks over at Thorin, who’s gone rather pale.

“Hello Dis,” he manages eventually, his voice slightly strangled.

“Ma?” Fili asks incredulously. “What are you doing here?”

“You ask me what I’m doing here? I’m making sure you two haven’t got yourselves charcoaled, that’s what I’m doing here!”

“We’re fine, Ma,” says Fili. “We’re perfectly safe. Uncle Thorin’s been taking care of us.”

“I daresay he has.” Dis gives an emphatic sniff, and Thorin shuffles uncomfortably under her gaze.

“Gloin, for the love of Mahal, stop pointing that axe at me,” says one of the other lady-dwarves. “I’m not going to hurt you, husband. Not much, at any rate.”

Gloin puts down his axe somewhat sheepsishly.

“Sorry love.”

Dis speaks again.

“Honestly, I wake up to find the both of you vanished and a note saying ‘gone on an adventure with Uncle Thorin, we won’t be back in time for dinner’,” she continues. “What did you expect me to do? Wait around at home whilst you got burned to a crisp?”

“We’ve been on adventures with Uncle Thorin before!” Kili protests. “We were fine then!”

“Kili, the last time I found an empty house and a note telling me your thick-headed uncle had taken you on an adventure, you were seven years old and you only went as far as the toymaker! This time, I happen to know that Uncle Thorin’s adventure involves going after a bloody great dragon!”

“Technically, we have only gone as far as the toymaker,” Fili points out as Bofur waves cheerily from the back of the huddle. “It just so happens that the toymaker’s gone a bit further than usual.”

Dis stamps her foot in frustration.

“I think what Dis is trying to say, Thorin,” says another lady-dwarf, who, instead of sword, axe or warhammer, is armed with several kitchen utensils of varied size and sharpness, “is that whilst she has no qualms about your going off on madcap schemes, could you at least _try_ and persuade your nephews to stay at home? Bombur, dear,” she adds,  “you forgot your meat tenderiser and your best frying pan, I thought you might want them on the journey.”

Bilbo looks on in amazement as the lady-dwarf comes over to Bombur and presses the utensils into his hands before fussing over his beard and fretting that he seems to have lost weight since he started out on the quest.

Dis, meanwhile, is continuing to fix her brother with an unforgiving stare. Bilbo leans into Gandalf and whispers something that has been playing on his mind for a while now, ever since the lady-dwarves entered the clearing.

“The beards… Are they false, or do the ladies, erm, cultivate their own?”

“I can’t say I’ve ever asked.” Gandalf muses for a moment. “Beards are a delicate topic for dwarf-kind. I never thought it prudent to intrude on the subject of their facial hirsuitism.”

“Well,” says the fourth lady-dwarf suddenly. “Since we’re here, we may as well stay. Move over and make room for the ladies.” She makes her way over to Oin’s makeshift bed and pushes it further towards Gloin’s to make room.

“Wait, what, Helga, no!” Oin rushes over to push her back towards the other ladies. “Helga, you can’t, it’s too dangerous! There’s trolls, and goblins, and wargs, and giant mountain men, and orcs …”

He trails off on seeing both Helga and Dis raise their eyebrows, the latter turning accusing eyes on her brother and sons.

“I thought you said you’d been perfectly safe,” she says coolly.

“Well, maybe not exactly safe,” Fili says. “But we’re all right! We’ve got Gandalf, he fixed Thorin after he was nearly killed, and none of us were too affected from being spit-roast…”

“Right, that’s it,” says Dis with finality. “We’re definitely staying now.”

“But Dis!” Thorin protests.

“Thorin, my sisters-in-arms and I have come from the Blue Mountains and we have not encountered so much as a wild bobcat, let alone a warg. It seems to me that you’d be far safer with us.”

“But Dis!”

Dis fixes her brother with a glare that obviously runs in the family.

“There’s only one way to settle this, my brother. The old-fashioned way.” The other dwarves fall silent and take a step back on hearing these words. “If I win, we stay. If I lose, we return home to the Blue Mountains to await news of your incarceration, laceration, evisceration and or incineration.”

Thorin takes a deep breath.

“Very well,” he says gruffly. “We’ll need an independent judge. Gandalf?”

“Of course.” Gandalf steps forward and indicates the rock in the centre of the clearing. “Here’s as good a place as any.”

Bilbo sidles closer to Balin.

“What’s happening?” he asks nervously. “An ancient dwarf method of dispute resolution?”

“No, no,” says Balin cheerily. “Just an ancient Durin method of dispute resolution. Thorin and Dis have settled arguments this way ever since they were children.”

Bilbo and Balin follow the other dwarves over to the stone, where Thorin and Dis are standing either side, staring each other down.

“You both know the rules,” Gandalf is saying. “Combatants must present arms naked from elbow to fingertip. Any member of either participant’s party caught attempting to sabotage the duel in any way will result in the duel immediately being forfeit in the other party’s favour. Each combatant may nominate one second, not of the immediate line of Durin – Fili, Kili, you’re out whether or not you can decide which of your mother or uncle to support – who may take their place in the duel in case of sudden and unforeseen death, dismemberment or other serious incapacitation.”

“Helga,” says Dis grimly.

“Dwalin,” Thorin growls, handing the other dwarf his gauntlets and rolling his sleeves above the elbow.

Gandalf seems satisfied.

“Assume the position.”

Dis and Thorin lean in over the rock, right hands clasped, and Bilbo, who has been expecting some strange, ritualistic fight to the almost death, comes to a realisation.

“They’re going to _arm wrestle_?” he asks incredulously.

“Well, of course, laddie,” Balin says. “What did you think they were going to do?”

Bilbo can’t really answer that. Whilst he isn’t quite sure what he was expecting, he knows that the dwarf who would be king and his sister arm wrestling is definitely not it.

“But Thorin’s a blacksmith!” he splutters. “He should win hands down! No pun intended.”

“You’ve only been recently acquainted with the line of Durin,” Balin says patiently. “If there’s one thing you should learn about them, it’s that you should never, ever, underestimate the Lady Dis…”

X

The next morning, Bilbo and Gandalf find themselves accompanying seventeen dwarfs to Erebor…


End file.
